


A Psychic's Psychosis, and their Psychologists (mis)understanding of the Paranormal

by kixxy23



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Autistic Will Graham, Blood Kink, But I AM drinking, Cannibalism Play, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal can't deal with this shit, Hannibal is curious, Hannibal's version of Love at First Sight, Hilarity Ensues, Humor, I'm not drunk, Insomnia, Love at First Sight, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Mentions of Mischa's ghost, Not being able to tell the difference between Hallucinations and Prophetic Visions, On Hiatus, Paranormal, Prophetic Visions, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Powers Mistaken For Psychosis, Psychic Will Graham, References to Depression, Sleeptalking, Sleepwalking, Spirits, Stimming, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, Will Graham has Psychosis, and mildly freaked out, cannibal kink, for now, not really - Freeform, violence kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kixxy23/pseuds/kixxy23
Summary: For as long as Will Graham could remember he could see and do things that shouldn't be possible.He could see and converse with the dead. He could understand, however mildly, what animals around him said. He would have dreams, and in the waking realm, they would happen. Elements and fixtures would bend to his command. Darkness lurked and fed on his shadow, trailing like the hounds he kept. He could look into the eyes of any creature and see the surface of their very soul.Problem is, he can never tell if it truly is happening or if it's another one of his hallucinations.Hannibal Lector is left trailing after in the hopes he can see when Will finally accepts what he is. Now, if only Hannibal could find out what Will is himself, this might be easier.





	1. See Me (Taste Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, I was drinking and looking through Pinterest. This is supposed to be crack. I don't know how well I'll writing considering I have dyslexia and decided to be impaired. If you find any spelling errors, just let me know and I'll correct them. Hope you enjoy.

Upon being told about his newest 'partner', Hannibal Lector was curious. It's not every day a psychologist gets the chance to analyze a person with an empathy disorder. It is also not an everyday occurrence a murderer can talk face to face with the one profiling them by their victims. And for the killer to be working with the agent in said profiling- Well, if there is a deity watching up above, they're probably cackling at the horrific irony.

 

He'd already had his first encounter with Will Graham and it left him feeling more exposed than he has been in quite a long time. There, in Crawford's office, Hannibal found himself dancing around a predator. One subdued, yet hungry. Ready to unleash violence upon its victim. It's the kind that hunted other hunters. It drew blood from one who dared to draw from another. While other killers Hannibal has met or heard of could be compared to sheep trying vainly to become wolves, Will was the opposite. Will was the wolf, trying to bury himself in sheep's wool. Or maybe, a wolf who let itself be domesticated, thinking he'll be loved if he files down his claws and rejects his nature. A loyal little mutt.

 

But even dogs bite.

 

And akin to a dog, Will is. He longs for affection. He craves companionship. He rolls over, exposing his weakest side, trying to prove he is good enough. But sheep can only understand a dog so much, and Will still perks his nose at the scent of blood and death. Still gets the rush and pleasure from tracking and hunting. Never to remove the wool fully from his eyes, to make the long-awaited kill, for fear of being abandoned by the prey that already could only stand his presence for so long. And as the lambs walk to slaughter, the dog is left; an outside watcher to what is to come, but still able to influence from inside the herd.

 

But there was more to Will than that.

 

From the moment Hannibal had stepped into that office, he had felt uneasy. As if something was watching him, stalking out prey that wandered too close. Then he saw the shorter man, back bent in and hiding in a near fetal position on the chair. But no matter the fact that he tried so desperately to close out the world around him, the brunet still set every instinct in Hannibal on edge. The young man's pale skin was thin, translucent in such a way to see the veins running under it. Rich brown darkened to umber at the roots of messy hair. And as the person turned to his general direction, Hannibal caught sight of a sharp, square jaw with a faint stubble that suggested to not being taken care of. Nails, short and blunt but clean, dug into the hands opposite. Worn out, large clothes did little to hide the gaunt frame underneath. But his eyes, those are what Hannibal was most caught on, other than the air he carried. Those eyes, they were on off grey. Like a dark, stained glass, left shattered. A storm ready to brew and spill, with all the gorgeous violence natural forces of nature can bring.

 

There was something _not right_ about Will Graham. Something that said, 'Not human'. Hannibal has always trusted those instincts. But what did they mean now?

 

He had tried to talk around Will, dig deeper. And as Hannibal tried to pry him open, Will out-talked him. Talking of forts and killer, that was when Hannibal saw it.

 

Something charged the very air.

 

In that small space between them, Hannibal could just _feel_ the fangs, sharp and ready to rend and tear. The _taste_ of Will's presence brought Hannibal up to guard. One could _hear_ the air still. He could _smell_ the danger that lurked around the younger man's tense form. Even with Wil sitting in a small chair, his head bowed, brown curls hiding the firm lines of his face drawing down as his back hunched forward, neck bent, to make his already small form seem even more so, Hannibal wanted to _touch_.

 

It was a test in self-restraint for Hannibal not to brush the back of his fingers along the angle of the scruff covered jaw. To press his thumb into the thin, chapped lips that twisted so easily into a near-snarl (the stain of deep pink alluding to a dehydrated state being a constant to him). The craving to then dig the thumb between the sensitive flesh, peel the layer away, reveal the teeth of this hungry thing. To see a _violent_ _red_ spill, not from, but _into_ the open _maw_ of Will. See the _outcropping_ of _bones_ make a wide berth for the organ between, tastebuds running over _fresh_ meat, _feel canines pierce and molars grind, **tear Hannibal's outer layer and dig into the warmth beneath, pleading with his eyes, ~~screaming, 'taste me, taste me!!!'...~~**_

 

...

 

...

 

He contemplated what Will have would see first had he looked up; The Chesapeake Ripper or the thing Hannibal became in that moment of weakness towards being seen at all.

 

To say Hannibal was intrigued was an understatement.

 

To be told where Will lived, even if practically ordered to invade Will's space, only fed into the 'intrigue'.

 

Who would think Hannibal Lector would spend time worrying if his outfit was just casual enough to not irritate another person? To stoop himself lower so as to initiate an attachment to another person? To _want_ an attachment to another person?

 

None the less, Hannibal left his abode in grey-ish khaki dress pants, pale blue and white dress shirt, with a tawny orange blazer left open. He had even tried to leave a few stray hairs out of his styling, hoping to remove some of his normal crisp looks and appear more open to the younger man he was driving to meet. He had even made Will breakfast.

 

Eggs, vegetables, and cuts of a special sausage Hannibal had made with more recent meat a while ago.

 

As his black vehicle winded down the dirt path, Hannibal found it fitting for Will to live in such an isolated and foreboding area. Deep in the wooded area where shadows lurked behind luscious, full trees and healthy underbrush. A quiet place where the scent of natural decay is beautiful perfume, be it from the leaves or the creatures that dance in those shadows.

 

Will was a few steps from greyscale in the darkness of his entryway and Hannibal's fingers _itched_ for his charcoal and canvas. One would never expect for a simple white crewneck to have such an effect, for Hannibal's mind was already comparing the man before him to the holy beings he didn't believe in. A divine, dressed in pure white, with features of a Botticelli angel, emerging from the dark abyss, only for one to find that a darker abyss lay in the man's eyes. Hannibal craved to be able to gaze into that abyss and have it look back at him. To see inside and not run away.

 

 Hannibal thought he saw something move behind Will, but it was too fast to make out.

 

He chalked it up to the dogs that playfully came to sniff once he got inside.


	2. Chapter 2

William Graham has always been able to see strange things.

 

He was born on a sunny day in 1981, on the 13th of June. In a small clinic in New Orleans, the breeze gently lifting the white sheer curtains as a new mother loosely cradled her son. She stared vacantly at the soft thing in her arms, the dawning horror numbing what would have been a beautiful occasion. Her heart wept at the realization of her actions.

 

All she could do was stare in mild horror as the child's eyes followed an unseen being, just beyond her shoulder. The same shoulder she felt claws gently grazing.

 

She would watch as her son grabbed at nothing in the flowerbeds and babble to the wind. Things moving from place to place. How he stared at the darkest corners of the room and the shadows seemed to reach for him.

 

By the time Will was six, his mother left him and his dad.

 

His dad was a somber man who tried very hard for him, but even he couldn't stay.

 

He could hear how Will called to darker things in the night. How the teen would be near silent in moving about the house, only to be given away by the inhuman noises that accompanied his kid's steps. It was the last straw when he awoke to Will standing in his doorway, not really there, and with blacked out eyes.

 

No one really missed the fisherman that lived with his son, and few held a mild pity for the boy being alone now due to his fathers passing. But the boy could live on his own now and he was old enough to have a job. And Will Graham was forgotten. He became a cop in New Orleans. Life settled.

 

Till it didn't.

 

If only he didn't see ghosts. If only he couldn't see the 'other'. He wouldn't be in this mess, helping the FBI, tearing at his already fragile mind to catch killers.

 

At least he still had his cozy house in the woods, had his dogs, and could still fish.

 ~ 

 

Will Graham was not the type to socialize. He was a man who would prefer animals and nature over any activity with another human being. He was silent and observative, bring a 'mood killing' tone with him. A quiet seriousness that held no place in regular conversation. And no matter how unthreatening he tries to appear, everyone knows one thing: Something is  _wrong_ with Will Graham.

 

Was it the way he walked? Cautious and slow, his long legs keeping a predatory grace even when he would fumble. The way that when he fell he seemed even more like a feral animal. Maybe the inhuman movements he would quell in the presence of others, though could never get rid of. Or his eyes? The storm of grey that could consume one's soul if they dared to gaze too long. How shadows seemed to crawl along walls to join Will's own. Where darkness thrummed in his bursts of anger.

 

It's not his fault. If he could, he would be able to fake interaction without a grimace. He would move like a regular person. He would look into other's eyes without biting into their thoughts.

 

Everyone leaves once they really see him. When he draws back the curtains and reveals bits and pieces of what he is. His mom, his Dad, and now Alana.

 

Jack is one he wishes didn't stay. The man used and abused Will's curse to benefit himself. Jack Crawford, one would think he has a praise kink with how far he's willing to go to get his fix. Will is no more than a damaged tool that still needs to be used.

 

 And then, there was Hannibal. Tan, aged skin and blond hair, with eyes of rotting blood.

 

Eyes... 

 

 Eyes hollow and dark, trama consumed by a never-ending fury, seeking to enact revenge upon any poor bastard to get in the way. Will didn't miss the small, clear hand that tried to clench the edges of the man's jacket.

 

 But that wasn't all. No, the antlers too large and too long protruded from his forehead. They curled against his scalp and dug into the fixtures of reality. A Wendigo without actual transformation.

 

How hilarious was it for a literal cannibal to be more kind to Will than he has ever even known before? But kindness won't be Will's undoing, he'll have to keep a careful eye on one Dr. Lector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments and suggestions! I do hope you found the story okay, and have a wonderful day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to thank everyone who commented, bookmarked, and left a kudos! Heck, if you even read it, I want to thank you as well! Your comments fuel me to write chapters, even when I really don't feel like it.  
> Sorry, I haven't updated in a while, I just want to get this out so there is at least something for you guys. I've been having a tough while and didn't know how I wanted this to transition into anything else.  
> I know how I want the story to go, but I'm not very creative when it comes to everything in between. If you want to leave ideas, suggestions, or just say what you really like about it, I will try to read it all.

Will ate the meat Hannibal brought him in the protein scramble. He didn't know how the man would react if he rejected the human flesh that was made so fantastically. The knowledge didn't make it less horrifying to watch Hannibal preen under Will's compliments. He realized he was talking about his Copycat in front of another cannibalistic killer. Though, Will found it to be too coincidental that a copycat appeared the _day_ _after_  meeting Hannibal he was not going to go in and blame the new man. Who would listen anyway? An honorable surgeon and decorated phycologist. Jack would probably throw Will into the loony bin if he heard hide or tail of such accusations directed towards the Lithuanian.

 

No. It would be better if Will could pander to the pompous attitude and plant seeds of doubt and suspicion in his colleagues, leaving hints like breadcrumbs, than to ruffle feathers so soon.

 

Then Hannibal did something stupid. He compared Will to a fucking teacup. _A teacup_. Tried to make it sound like it was Jack's thought process when Will knew that was a far-fetched lie if ever there was one made. Jack pushed and prodded and dragged Will too much to treat him as _human_ , let alone _fragile_. 

 

He couldn't help but laugh and ask what Hannibal saw then. Will was mildly surprised to be compared to a mongoose. He didn't think he'd be breaking the ice with the killer in his dining room.

 

Guess there's always a chance for something new?

 

Will couldn't help but try to make eye contact every now and again. And, while Hannibal probably felt he was manipulating Will well, Will didn't want to take his eyes off the predator in front of him. Hannibal may think Will easy to coerce, he doesn't know what the other man does. Maybe Will could have fun with this? He felt mild guilt about his sadistic wants to peel the cannibal open and make him afraid, but maybe he shouldn't have fed Will another fucking human being the first chance he got.

**Author's Note:**

> I love any comments I can get, go ahead and send out anything. Love criticism and love flaming even more (because I love laughing at those, and because I do try to take the actual criticism out of it). Have a lovely day, and thank you for reading!


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